Crooked Pigtails

GRRRRRR

I just spent more than an hour writing a post about balance and my lack thereof (in life, I mean, because physically I have freakishly great balance.  You should see me in a yoga class) and then I hit publish and typepad ate the post and now I am going to go and cry and pull some hair out of my head because that is less expensive than throwing my laptop across the room.

Perhaps, I will attempt to recreate that post tomorrow.

Suckage

A couple of months ago, when we learned Steve's sister was being forced to find new homes for her two cats because her living situataion was in flux, it made perfect sense to us to offer to take them for her on a "temporary" basis until she is able to find a new living situation in which she can be reunited with them.  Fully understanding that temporary held the possibilty of forever, we could not imagine having to give up any of our pets, our hearts went out to her, and so, completely unsolicited, we told her we would be happy to add her "babies" to our family.  We had minor reservations, of course, but they were trumped, one by one, by the feeling we were doing the right thing.

It was a win/win.  She was relieved and we were heros.

Steve and Harper drove to New Jersey the last weekend in March, approximately four days after we made the offer to home the cats, to help his sister pack up her apartment.  Ricky and Lucy, the two blackest black cats I have ever seen, came home with them and, just like that, we were a four cat (two dog) household.  Peace and harmony abounds.  That was seven weeks ago.

A brief, horribly incomplete synopsis:

Seven weeks ago:  Ricky and Lucy spent most of the first week in the basement.  In part because we were attempting to introduce them slowly into the family, but also because they were not enjoying the transition and found great places to hide down there.  We found them every day and held them; they were friendly with us, but didn't trust us, and ran to rehide as soon as we put them down.

Six weeks ago:  Ricky continued to hide in the basement, but Lucy would come upstairs and hide behind the couch.  Our dogs completely ignored her.  Our cats hissed when they saw her, but basically ignored her as well.

Five weeks ago:  Both cats came upstairs in the evening after the girls went to bed and things had quieted.  Much hissing ensued.

Four weeks ago:  Ricky and Daisy have their first actual cat fight.  This takes place at approximately two in the morning just outside the bedroom doors, and scares the ever loving shit out of the entire family.  Ricky begins to sleep on Addison's bed.  Lucy is slowly adjusting.  Steve's sister visits and spends the entire weekend doting on the cats who stay in her room with her.  I share my concerns with her and she admits that Ricky has always been a bit of an asshole (my word, not hers).

Three weeks ago:  Ricky and Daisy are separated and we I spend ridiculous amounts of time exposing them to one another's bedding, crating them side by side, and every other tactic I read on the internet.  Josie begins to wail randomly and constantly.  I begin to share Josie's anxiety.  Ricky begins to spray.

Two weeks ago:  All cats are separated at night.  Ricky escapes and attacks Daisy on my bed.  Three times.  I pretty much stop sleeping at night in anticipation of the moaning and hissing and fighting. 

This week:  Ricky continues to spray in the house and to attack Daisy.  He has revved it up a notch and is now actively hunting her any time he is not segregated.  We have concluded that we can't keep him.

That the cats would actually fight had not occurred to us.  We knew they may not love one another immediately, but we assumed they would tolerate one another after a transition period.  Hissing we can handle.  If they wanted to hiss at one another every single time they come in contact for the rest of their lives, we could handle that, but fighting is a different story.  It has become a safety issue, not only for the cats, but for our family.  We can't take the chance that he will attack when one of our cats is on one of the girl's beds, or that one of the girls will attempt to break up a cat fight. 

And then there is the spraying.

Steve has attempted to call his sister two nights in a row, but she hasn't been home.  I've been researching no kill shelters here in CT, but ultimately she is going to have to make the call.  The thing is he is actually a very sweet cat one on one, and I, truly, believe if he were in a one cat household he would make a great companion. 

The entire situation breaks my heart.  Steve feels horrible because he doesn't want to disappoint is sister.  I feel horrible for him and for her and for the cat and for my kids because they are going to be disappointed...

Sometimes being a hero sucks.

 

 

Well, shit!

I just wrote a long post that included such scintillating topics as:

• our dining room renovation
• my husband's new work out routine and subsequent weight loss
• our plans for Miss H's school vacation this week
• my decision to take myself off the antibiotic I was prescribed for a sinus infection because, even though I have been faithfully eating the twelve to sixteen ounces of yogurt to counteract this particular side effect, I was beginning to notice the subtle, yet unmistakable, symptoms of a developing yeast infection.

But, then the power flickered a couple of times (freakin' wind) and I lost the whole damn thing and now I'm too tired to even attempt to start over.

You do the math

A word problem:

If child A gets conjunctivitis in her left eye on Thursday, and in her right eye on Friday, and then child B gets a stomach flu on Tuesday, how many loads of laundry will their mother wash, dry and fold by Wednesday?

Bonus Question:  By what day will the above mother have emptied the number of recyclable Purell bottles necessary to cash in for a one-way ticket to Hawaii?

Every morning it's another day

After completely paying off our credit cards--yes, I said completely, we are completely credit card debt free!  Can I have a Hallelujah!!--in the never-ending-project-swirl that is home ownership, we had two plans for our income tax check this year: fence in the back yard and carpet the living room.

Plans.  Ha!  Us with the planning!

When the washing machine died, we actually felt lucky, the timing was great, perfect, in fact, we could afford to replace it immediately, the new carpet could wait another couple of months.  Even luckier, we didn't have to worry about appliance shopping anxiety because we had just, in February, the day after my surgery, replaced the dryer---my mom bought it for us, Thanks Mom!  S did the legwork and helped my mom with the selection, Mom wrote the check, my sole contribution was to mumble that I wanted the largest capacity possible, and then to demand politely ask that they take the girls with them, out of my room, so I could sleep off the drugs!-- I highly (no pun intended) recommend this method of appliance shopping, by the way, so simple, so stress free.  And, so, because they had just completed that research a couple of months ago, when the washer went last week, all we had to do was compare prices for the machine that matched our new dryer.  Just find the best price and move on to the fencing department.

Simple.  Right?

This weekend we will be searching for a new truck.  S is currently driving a 1999 Toyota Camry with just over 200,000 miles on the odometer.  This car owes us nothing, it has been a fantastic vehicle, but it is old and tired and beginning to inch its way toward a final resting place--that big metal heap in the sky.

We knew this day was coming, but I hadn't realized how quickly.  The other night S refused to allow me to drive the Camry because it has become so fickle.  She's a one driver kinda gal these days, he told me, the driver who understands her idiosyncrasies, the one who keeps her moving forward.  Blah, blah, blah...if the car is dangerous for me to drive, it is dangerous for my children and/or my husband to occupy and must be replaced ASAP.  Period.  End of story.

Interesting how closely a down payment on a truck resembles the cost of fencing in the back yard, one might even call them interchangeable. 

We haven't had a second car payment in over four years.  In part, that is how we were able to pay off the credit cards. 

It's always something.

A cold in December

I am slowly emerging from a congested fog.  Miss A and I spent the better part of this week on the couch reading books and watching way too many consecutive episodes of The Backyardigans.  My house is a complete disaster, I haven't vacuumed in days, it has been even longer since I dusted, and I will get to the accumulated laundry as soon as I can find the machine, which, I believe, is under the pile of whites. 

I did manage to get my holiday cards to the printer last night, thanks to a desperately impromptu after-school photo shoot, during which the dog misbehaved and the girls refused to smile at the same time in any single shot.  Don't even ask me when I think I am going to have time to actually retrieve the completed cards, let alone address and send them.  If you usually get a card from us, we didn't forget you, I promise it's coming, it just may not arrive before February.

But, I digress...

Yes, my house is a mess.  Yes, my cards will be late later than I want them to be usual.  Yes, my "to do" list is about five, full sized, notebook pages, front and back, long.  Yes, the dog just vomited on my laundry room floor (and, yes, he just ate it before I could get the paper towels).  Yes, my Christmas CD's appear to be missing.  Yes, all of our decorations remain in a bin in the basement.  Yes, I had to cancel my hair appointment earlier this week because I was too sick to go, and, yes, that means I will be attending a holiday party tomorrow night looking like an overgrown skunk. 

But, dang nabbit, people, if that photo shoot didn't make me smile.

**photo removed**

Let's do a little science, shall we?

Newton's first law of motion:

An object at rest tends to stay at rest and an object in motion tends to stay in motion with the same speed and direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force.

The second law of Thermodynamics:

the entropy of the universe increases during any spontaneous process.

Susan's third law of parenting:

A mother lying on the couch snuggling a stuffy, whiny, feverish, preschooler will, on the third day, become a stuffy, whiny, feverish, mother and will remain on the couch an additional three days.

Why, oh why, does the Universe hate me so? Why? Why?????

In three days we leave for a mini-vacation.  This will be the only vacation, the only thing that even remotely resembles a vacation, we will take this summer.

After Miss H's dance class this evening, we arranged to have dinner with a friend and his three children (for those keeping score, that makes five children in total, all aged six and under, and three adults, two of which are men) at a local order at the counter/eat at picnic tables casual place, because his wife was called into work, and he didn't want to cook.

In the middle of the meal, with zero warning, the two-year-old stood and projectile vomited across the table, narrowly missing (but successfully splashing) both of my children!  Naturally, my maternal instincts kicked in, and before I could think about the consequences, I scooped up the bewildered baby to comfort and clean her.  The guys cleaned the table and corralled the rest of the kids.

Yeah, I threw my shirt away when we got home.  I think it goes without saying that we scrubbed the children down.  When I called to check on her a little bit ago, our friend said she seems to be fine, and the other children show no signs of upset; we are hoping it was spoiled milk rather than stomach flu.

But, since we have planned a quick get away, my money is on stomach flu.

Separation anxiety

I think I have mentioned that we have been in the process of separating the girls into their own bedrooms.  At six and a half, Miss H is in need of some personal space, for one thing she is becoming increasingly frustrated with her little sister always getting into her belongings, for another, she not only wants a quiet place to call her own, she was promised one when we moved to this house.

Now, before you go thinking that we are spoiling her, that she doesn't really need "space" at six years old---let me assure you, I agree, mostly.  However, my girls have very different personalities.  Miss H, delightful though she is, also happens to be a very serious little person.  She is a thinker and a feeler.  She likes to be able to pull out a book and have some time to re-charge, not lots of time, mind you, she is not spending hours alone, but, I honestly believe she does need and she does deserve to have, a few alone minutes when she gets home from school.  She is at her best when she has had time to process her day, change her clothes, and be with her own thoughts; then she emerges, smiling and ready to talk about her day, have a snack, and play with her sister.

Miss A, in complete contrast, is a doer.  She has a ton of energy and a very strong personality.  She misses her sister, whom she adores, all day and has a very difficult time staying away from her when she gets home from school.  If Miss H has a book on her lap, Miss A expects to be read to.  If Miss H is changing her clothes after school, Miss A want to help her choose an outfit.   Etc...

So, there is conflict.  And, yes, I know that giving them separate rooms is not going to solve all the conflict.  But it is a start.  If we didn't have the space it would be a non-issue; they are still young enough that they can share a room.  In fact, until recently, they even wanted to share a room, which is, in part, the reason we didn't make this separation more quickly after we moved in.  But, we do have the space and everyone needs to have a place to call their own.

So, Operation Separate Bedrooms is underway.  Who knew it would be so demanding?  Included in this process: closing in a door way in order to create a bedroom for Miss A, moving both girls into that new bedroom, painting the existing bedroom for Miss H, moving both girls back into the, newly painted, existing bedroom, painting the, newly created, bedroom for Miss A, moving Miss A into her new bedroom--hence accomplishing the separation, and decorating both bedrooms.

There have been plenty of interruptions: the sudden onset of summer, school functions, birthday parties, company,  Red Sox games, etc...but we are coming along.  Tomorrow, I hope, we will move the girls back into the original room (now painted) and start painting the new one.

Meanwhile:

The bed-in-a-bag set that Miss H has chosen for her bedroom is on back order.  Indefinitely.  However, the curtains are available for pick up at the store.  They, naturally, are not generic curtains, they are the same exact print as the comforter and would look foolish without said comforter, so I explained to the no doubt underpaid, woman with the "I hate my job", snotty attitude nice lady who called this morning that I would prefer to pick up all of my ordered items at the same time.  I am not certain, but I think she hung up on me.

So, I went on-line to see if I could find it any place else.  What I discovered is that, not only is it back ordered, it is, in fact, sold out in most places, and those places are not even willing to back order it; one place even lists it as discontinued.  When I called the original store back--different employee, same attitude--with this information, he told me it is not listed as discontinued, but, also, he can not guarantee delivery in the foreseeable future.  What the hell?  Foreseeable future, my ass!  The frickin' thing is sold out.

So, when she gets home from school this afternoon, I am going to try and convince Miss H to fall in love with what was actually her third choice because her second choice a) will not match the newly painted wall colors and b) is hideous.  If I am not successful, I suppose we will be forced to continue shopping.  Lesson learned: never paint the walls without the bedding in your possession.

Wish me luck.

My personal guarentee that, even though it is late March, 65 degrees and sunny, we will have, at least, one more major snow storm in Southeast Connecticut this year...

I just packed up all the hats, mittens, scarves, gloves and boots; the snow pants and winter jackets are in the wash.

I had to do it.  I apologize for any inconvenience.